Only Time
by lupin-in-the-sky-with-diamonds
Summary: Chapter update!!!...Clare receives a request from Dumbledore to leave the well-hidden Irish School of Witchcraft and attend Hogwarts her 6th year. Why is Dumbldore so urgent? What mysteries will she discover there? And who is she?
1. Twisted Sheets

Jumbled thoughts, twisted distortions...this is the only thing that I truly know, not that I have, in fact, jumbled and twisted myself among the sheets, damp with my own sweat. Not knowing that my face has contorted into a fierce grimace, seemingly in pain, but truthfully, in an effort to concentrate. Subconsciously, I think that this is one of those dreadful nightmares that have frequently haunted me in the dead of night for the past several years. But, somehow, I know that this is different...  
  
A vortex of images surges past in blinding, piercing flashes of color and light. I follow, and immediately am swept away, hurled into the tornado. Now, focusing on the swirling mists, I can just make out fleeting images melding together in the chaos to recreate my past and present. Dazzling lights burst forth to reveal the joyful moments, dancing in the confusion like minute rainbows. Shrinking back in the disorder are disturbing images of pale gray, which clearly project my troublesome memories, even as they flicker and fade within the hurricane. Eventually, these representations diminish and are replaced with images of my future, blurry figments of light, which are hardly conceivable. But the meaning is clear: change is about to occur, a dreadful change, with no destined outcome.  
  
Somehow, the mists dissipate, and I find myself standing alone on a rocky crag, jutting out of the earth's crust. All that can be seen before me is a strip of black pavement, leading out towards the horizon. Thoughts drift through my head, marveling at what this could be about.  
  
"YOU ARE THE ONE, CHILD!"  
  
A voice of agony rings out through the crisp air as my body, racked with an unspeakable pain, suddenly twists and convulses. Every individual nerve ending seems to burn, sear. My own flesh threatens to consume me as horrific spasms streak down my limbs. Pain. Torture. Agony. These feelings overwhelm my whole being as I scream for mercy.  
  
Forced out of my own mind, I can now all too clearly see the tortured form that is me. Naked, clad only in the stinking sweat running down my skin, I see myself in the most primordial of forms. But in a sense, that couldn't be true. Because the body was suspended above the earth by a silver web, as no man has ever been suspended before, shining as the waters gleam. Now I could see where the wracking pain came from, as the brilliant threads pierced my flesh again, and again, until my whole being seemed to be consumed by the innocently blinking lacework.  
  
All was then dead silent, suspense still hanging heavy in the air. In the back of my mind-for somehow, my own mind welcomed my spirit back into the dark, inhibiting lair in which I was still twitching, more out of nervousness than pain-I can't help but wonder how this has come to be. The rest of mind, though, is in over-ride. Uneasy, confused thoughts rack my head, as if I was a trapped rabbit, acting out of pure instinct to survive, struggling and yanking against the bonds, without any rationality about the situation at hand.  
  
I have to escape.  
  
I have to see the light.  
  
But the gossamer cords hold firm, and I can only scream my despair.  
  
Suddenly, I awoke with a jerk of my head and tumbled out of bed, along with the twisted bed sheets still damp from the night's torture and the lingering, desolate scream that eventually faded into the misty bog of my mind. 


	2. Mochalatté?

Sunlight streamed though the open window, bringing in, also, the sweet odor of pine, which surrounded the secluded castle hidden amongst the vast forest. All that could be heard was the twittering of various songbirds hidden deep within the boughs, cheerfully greeting the coming morn. The fresh, crisp air, along with the spectacular transformation of leaves in the few lone deciduous trees, suggested the coming of a beautiful autumn day. It seemed as if the whole point of creation, the reasoning behind the world's sufferings and trials, had all been for the making of this splendid utopia, settled delicately within the lands of Ireland. Nobody could possibly suggest otherwise.  
  
With one exception, of course.  
  
*groan*  
  
Desperate to untangle herself from the sweltering mass of sheets, Clare used the rest of her remaining strength to push her head through a break in the linen labyrinth. Gasping for air, she made an effort to remove her torso from the contorted heap, but gave up, sweat still coursing down her forehead. Instead, she let herself relax against the cool, stone floor, allowing herself to temporarily ignore the dull thud of pain in her left shoulder which had previously stuck the corner of the bedside table. After a moment, her eyes suddenly flew open. For a moment, the piercing sunlight reflected off the twin pools of brilliant, glistening emeralds, but just as abruptly, a hand flew up to shield the offensive brightness, casting her face in shadow.  
  
Then, squinting in confusion, Clare remembered.  
  
*Now I could see where the wracking pain came from, as the brilliant threads pierced my flesh again, and again, until my whole being seemed to be consumed by the innocently blinking lacework*  
  
Shuddering convulsively, Clare forced herself to concentrate on the fleeting images, flashing, lashing out to be recognized.  
  
I'm surrounded by darkness.a rocky crag.is that pavement? Yes, it is.stretching out toward the horizon.lights flashing.an eerie voice.oh no.  
  
The dream rapidly resumed its clarity and pounded on her mind in full force, revealing the horror and monstrosity of events that had taken place. Pain once again coursed down her spine, tingling down towards the extremities, like hot knifes burning against flesh. Unable to control the onslaught of images, she painstakingly crawled towards the wooden door, desperate to escape the torture. But the dream had, again, taken complete control over her entire being, forcing Clare to slump in the middle of the chamber, twitching uncontrollably. Now curled in a tight ball, her clenched fists covered those unfortunate ears, frantically trying to block the heart-wrenching voice screaming within her soul; a voice that she knew too well as her own.  
  
Dreams merged with reality, voices intermingled, Clare was soon roughly shaken out of her nightmare, cutting off her piercing shriek.  
  
"Wake up, damn you!"  
  
Head lolling slightly, Clare looked wearily up at her savior in complete shock, and without realizing what she was doing, fiercely hugged the half- crouched figure.  
  
"Thank you thank you thank you, oh thank you!," increasing her death-grip upon the already out-of-breath, frazzled-looking individual.  
  
"Yes, I love you too.," as Erin returned the embrace out of pure friendship and worry. "But will you get off! I.can't.breathe."  
  
"Oh.ummm, right."  
  
Quickly releasing her, she struggled to stand up. Her knees, shaking as furiously as they were, were unable to support her over-exerted form. But Erin just managed to catch her as she slumped towards the unforgiving floor, and straightened her up so that they were facing each other in the bright morning sunlight.  
  
"Do you know what I had to go through to wake you up?! I even tried using my wand on you, but."  
  
She stopped, though, taking in Clare's exhausted form. Her hair-usually perfectly straight and reaching down to her waist-was massed in clumps, forming an eerie, lop-sided halo of red as the sunlight gleamed off of the twisted brown strands. Fatigued eyes, the color of jade, were staring back, flashing brilliantly without the limitations of the half-moon glasses they usually were behind. The petite form, silhouetted against the streaming light, looked thoroughly wasted compared to her normal, fairly chipper self.  
  
"Do you want to sit down?"  
  
Clare nodded slightly, and Erin led her-carefully stepping over the strewn remnants of the bed-to the plush couch facing the empty hearth. After comfortably situating herself beside the slightly shaking form, Erin pulled out her wand from her emerald green robes and murmured softly while pointing the wand-tip towards the elegantly furnished coffee table.  
  
"Mocha-latté? It's your favorite blend, and by the looks of it, will do you some good."  
  
Clare suddenly noticed, in the midst of her daze, two steaming mugs of inviting brown liquid, sitting on the otherwise bare table. Reaching out her quivering hand, she started to pick it up, making sure that the handle wouldn't side out of her clammy grip. Slowly, she inhaled its ambrosial aroma and carefully took a reviving sip, savoring the steaming liquid's texture sliding down the back of her parched throat along with its stark bitterness which, in a way, caressed her slowly back into reality.  
  
After a while, Erin turned towards Clare with a questionable, but compassionate look in her hazel stare while extending out to grasp her free hand. Clammy, still, the spasms had dissipated and while slowly stroking the smooth skin with her thumb, she chose that moment to ask Clare what had happened. As she opened her mouth, though, a flurry of feathers descended on them both with what seemed to be a rumpled piece of parchment secured firmly to the intruder's scaled leg. 


End file.
